


War bows before Sleep

by eidorina



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Character Study, Dreams, Fluff, Implied Family Drama, Implied Violence, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Mentioned Hades (Hades Video Game), Mentioned Hera and Zeus and their hot mess, Mentioned Nyx (Hades Video Game), Mentioned Thanatos (Hades Video Game), Mythology References, Post Slow Burn, Pre-Canon, doesn't stab anybody here though that's in the past, kind of, maybe actual violence it's ares after all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29971617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidorina/pseuds/eidorina
Summary: To Hypnos, how dark dreams could grow did not leave the same impact as it did when he was still young, a babe in his mother’s arms, learning the extent and nature of his godly abilities. In sleep, his domain, the morbid tendrils crawling into the darkest recesses of unconscious minds was but a fact of life for him. For this reason alone, the screams and cries of bloody murder elicited much the same reaction as much of anything else. Sights of horror were never new.The smell of burning flesh, however, was.---Dreams are what unite Hypnos and Ares.
Relationships: Ares/Hypnos (Hades Video Game), mention of hypnos/pasithea if you squint
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79





	War bows before Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first attempt at fanfic in over a decade, and my first attempt at creative writing in ages. Couldn't be happier to say that it's for a wonderful game that deserves so much love.
> 
> You Are Not Immune To Hypnos.

To Hypnos, how dark dreams could grow did not leave the same impact as it did when he was still young, a babe in his mother’s arms, learning the extent and nature of his godly abilities. In sleep, his domain, the morbid tendrils crawling into the darkest recesses of unconscious minds was but a fact of life for him. For this reason alone, the screams and cries of bloody murder elicited much the same reaction as much of anything else. Sights of horror were never new.

The smell of burning flesh, however, _was_.

The Fates decided where Hypnos would land whenever he closed his eyes and drifted into dreams. It could very well be his own, bright and exciting. It could be something new and foreign. It always started much the same, regardless: in the plush comfort of his ebony bed, in his cave tucked away in a silent corner of Elysium, far from his duties at the House of Hades. Here, he simply existed in peace. Waves of poppies greeted him whenever he arrived and rocked him to sleep with their aroma when he finally ended his journey from Tartarus by settling down. 

Long ago, Mother Night had rocked him as he explored dreams. Before long, however, she decided it was time for him to go on his own, as Sleep was but one aspect of Night. Centuries, millennia had gone by since he switched the cradle in his mother’s arms to his grand bed, the stage for exploration, growth. The stage where, normally, he simply watched the dreams of others unfold, like the plays he heard the shades speak of amongst themselves. 

He did not know what the Fates, those sisters he had never met before, plotted with these machinations. As always, he never questioned it. He felt that the Fates and he weren’t too dissimilar, since many mortals said that fate had a strange sense of humor. Many have said the same of him.

Gods, on the other hand, posed a different situation when it came to slumber. They were not as simple as Mortals in their dreams, as sleep was more for recreation. They had no need of it. Still, while there was no way to kill a god, any God could fall to him with the slightest touch. For this reason, even the Queen of Olympus was eager to have him on her side, not once but twice, fooling him into wrapping his somnolent mantle on the King, all in the name of revenge. Thanks to this he gained Pasithea’s presence in his life. He also gained a well-deserved reputation among the Gods for having bested the greatest of Olympians himself.

Nevermind that he hid under his mother’s skirts the first time to escape Zeus’s rage.

Given this experience at the hand of the Olympians, it was no surprise that he had no interaction with them in their dreams, if he could avoid it. Should his sisters decide to place him in their dreams, he would quickly leave, gone long before the younger gods could even detect something was amiss in their dreams.

However, it was not so with the dreams of the Queen’s legitimate son with the King, the God of War himself, Ares.

The fleece-haired god awoke lazily, the dream-sun’s dazzling rays caressing his cheek, bringing Asphodel’s heat to mind. The stage was set: an open field basked in a cloudless sky. Hypnos, taking note of the silence, rose slowly, but alert like he never was in wakefulness. It was in sleep when he was truly awake. His senses sharpened, noting the unnatural stillness of the dream. His instinct warned him that he invaded Ares’s slumber, but unlike he would with any other Olympian, he simply stayed there, taking in the scenery.

Usually, his stillness, the pause to think in most situations, was what led his fellow Chthonic gods to view him as inattentive, lacking in the discipline needed for his post receiving shade after shade into the Underworld. His brother had told him as much, several times, but he never paid it any mind. Lord Hades preferred the monotony of routine, something that Hypnos himself appreciated. He enjoyed his duties taking note of the souls that lifted themselves from the River Styx. However, as much as he enjoyed his work, it had nothing to do with his abilities. As such, the others in his day-to-day life knew little of what he was capable of. The routine of his job made him appreciate the unpredictable twists his dreams could take, such as they did then. They did not know of the enthralling journeys he took whenever he closed his eyes.

Once Hypnos stood, he paused to look down, smiling to himself once he saw the poppy field that announced his entrance. Once he had told Ares that he tended to his poppy garden at his home in Elysium, following what he observed from others (for he would never say it was from the Queen’s gentle advice). Since then, one way or another, poppies would present themselves in the War God’s dreams. Hypnos couldn’t help but smile to himself at the thought that he was in somebody’s thoughts. He squeezed his toes into the crisp grass in happiness.

He never floated in dreams. It was his domain. He felt comfortable. The rough pasture at his feet grounded him, tickling him as he trodded his way out of the poppy field.

Dreams served a different purpose for everybody, and that especially applied to a deity. Usually, unless Hypnos himself forced his hand, gods rarely sat down to sleep, The War God was unusual in this aspect. Often he enjoyed reliving memories of war in his dreams, recalling the horrors that befell humans in conflict with mirth. While others would find his dreams horrific, Hypnos was always mesmerized by this, by seeing the god in his environment, strong, courageous and cunning. The Sleep God was never one for fighting -- not like his brothers, with all their strength. He simply eagerly stood by, watching others fight battles with glee.

Which, in retrospect, the present stillness was odd. Normally there was already fighting in Ares’s dreams by the time Hypnos woke in them. He thought about this for as long as he needed to -no more than a second-, wrapping himself in his cape as he walked. He gazed around idly for the briefest of moments when his musing was interrupted by wet ground. Instinctively, he pulled his foot back with a yelp, not expecting the sudden change of the field. His foot was covered in a red, viscous liquid, and once he looked down, the grass was damp with it. It took all but a moment to identify what this was.

Blood.

His poppies disguised the blood splatter on the ground, looking like Ares’s own morbid version of a flower field. While those he knew would consider this a warning against walking further into the War God’s slumber, Hypnos chuckled to nobody in particular. Ares’s blood splatter and the petals of his poppies weren’t so different, 

It wasn’t long after that when suddenly a pungent aroma wafted in, guided by the wind. There he stopped in his tracks, running through memories in his mind in a feeble attempt to identify the scent. Nothing he came across in his waking hours came to mind. Its sourness reminded him of the sulfur of Tartarus while he waited for his brother Charon to row him to Elysium. Maybe stronger. More pungent. Hypnos scrunched up his nose, figuring the only way to learn the source was to continue his path. Still, he idly wandered on through the blood-dampened ground. 

One thought consumed his mind. If he could smell this, --whatever this was--, it meant that Ares himself came across it before. 

It didn’t take long before he saw the cause of the smell: large plumes of smoke were visible at the edge of the meadow, rising further than it would allow him to see its source. The fumes moved laggardly, but as Hypnos moved closer, it grew in ferocity, wisps of smoke ballooning into clouds. The aroma accompanying it intensified, acrid and stinging his nose. Fire, he supposed, ignoring that the ichor grew in measure as he advanced. Still, his pace was slow and meandering, taking his time to look around. Ares’ dreams were always the closest he’d ever get to the surface, its varied scenery. Hypnos took the time to savor it, all of it. The War God’s company itself, which Hypnos found in a clearing beyond the edge of the meadow, was also something to be savored. 

He found not just him, however, but the source of the fire.

Blazing furiously before the War God, leaving his figure silhouetted in shadow from where Hypnos stood, was a stack of logs - a pyre - almost altar-like in its construction as he’d seen in priests and priestesses’ dreams whose day-to-day had them worship before altars, placing tokens of their devotion there. Here, the pyre altar wasn’t too different, Hypnos noted, as it was dotted with--

Bodies.

An ocean of blood surrounding the stack of logs proved this to be true. The amount was too much to be natural -- this _was_ Ares’ dream, after all. It was to be expected. Still, as used the Dream God was to see the worst the subconscious could offer, between the heavy, palpable smoke wafting before him, the char and decay of the dozens-- _hundreds_ of bodies piled on the pyre as the flames tortuously consumed it was something different altogether. The thought that they died by Ares' hand rang clearly in his mind. Nothing, however, would give him the same feeling of nervous butterflies down his spine as the moment Ares turned around to face him, the flame’s glow showing his manic grin shifting into a confident smirk once he laid his eyes on the Sleep God.

Yet, the sense of familiarity warmed him afterward.

It was odd to others, his brother Thanatos especially, that he found the thought of the War God comforting. Hypnos watched closely as Ares began his confident stride towards him, back straightened, scarlet eyes etching its gaze onto his soul.

“There you are.” Ares’ voice was warm, husky as he approached. Hypnos felt compelled to step down the slope dividing them, the ground growing warmer, more brittle as he drew near the pyre.

Even with the scene before him, even with the War God's piercing gaze, he could never understand why others withdrew themselves from it. Warmth and devotion were evident in it, at least to Hypnos. Nothing else existed in that very moment to Ares, it seemed.

Perhaps because Ares knew that Hypnos was the only real thing there.

Ares was sharp, always clever enough to notice Hypnos's presence. Their first encounter remains unspoken after all the time they have known each other. Their first meeting was equally the first time he was caught in a dream. As Ares's dreams often did, it began in a siege. Before Hypnos knew it, he was pinned against a castle wall, staring at the very blazing scarlet eyes that now gazed on him fondly. The War God had sensed his otherworldly nature, the energy that gave away Chthonic beings. His heart raced, but his mouth was faster. Hypnos never thought before he spoke. Others thought it an annoyance at best, a hindrance at worst.

But Ares always appreciated his honesty.

His eyes trailed back to the burning pyre behind the imposing figure, wondering if he had spent time lucidly creating this, or if he simply began his dreaming with it, Hypnos having been his last thought before he slipped into unconsciousness, far up in Olympus.

Hypnos wasn't used to worship. Only those unable to wrap themselves in sleep's mantle, like new mothers eager to rest but unable to due to the wails of their sleepless children, called upon him. For this reason, whenever Ares bowed before him -- and he did, at every encounter --, he never knew quite what to do, long fingers clutching at the cape around his shoulders in an attempt to soothe.

"Lord Hypnos." Reverence echoed in his voice. War falling before Sleep, Ares once said.

"Lord Ares…" He heard himself speak in a weak voice. Hypnos did not bow in return, didn't think to. His antiquity rarely required him to bow before Olympians, but even still, the thought would not have crossed his mind. Quick to find offense from any other God, Ares never minded. They were both on the fringes of a godly society. 

"Lord Ares," He repeated, gathering his wits about him to focus. "Lord Ares, why is there a fire?"

The fire was of the least concern, but they never crossed Hypnos's mind. Instead, all he took in was the dark chuckle that came from deep within Ares's chest, mock humbleness evident when he placed his hand on his chest.

"Ah, do you not consider my tribute adequate, my dear Lord Hypnos?" Ares smiled coyly, eyeing the Sleep God keenly. Hypnos found himself returning the smile in turn without thinking about it, bringing a hand to his mouth as he let out a laugh.

“Oh, sure, sure! It’s perfect.” The Sleep God waved his hand in reassurance. The War God didn’t react, as if he knew what would come next, an unreadable smile firmly placed on War's lips as Hypnos slowly realized what Ares said.

A… tribute?

For him?

Hypnos’s cheeks grew warm, eyes widening like blooming flowers at the meaning of what Ares said. “A-A tribute? For-- for little old me? _Me_? I-- Lord Ares--”

Ares let out a hoarse chuckle at Hypnos’s dawning realization of what this encounter entails, almost sinister. This would be how most would see it, anybody reasonable, but Hypnos found himself entranced by the God’s ruby gaze and his firm grip on his sword, still coated in the blood of those that now served as mere decoration.

While this was but a dream, Hypnos knew that Ares would do much the same, or more, if he truly desired in his waking hours. He would do this for him. He stuttered, unsure of how to continue this line of conversation until he finally found a grip on his thoughts once he cleared his throat, his grip on his plush cape loosening.

“W-well! This sure is new-- I don’t think many have left me tributes- maybe those that can’t sleep because of things in your domain--” Others may have taken offense to this, but Ares simply smirked. “Much less-- a god. _The_ God of War, leaving a tribute to Sleep?”

“Yes, well…” Ares reached up and brushed away some sweat-drenched coils of hair from his face. A show of nervousness from others, but Hypnos couldn’t help but think it added to his perpetual confidence, now that nothing blocked his eyes. Ares continued, “While the goal of war is death, not every pawn on the field will come across it. However,--”

Ares stepped closer to the fleece-haired God, and Hypnos brought his hands down at Ares’s gentle push. A calloused thumb ran over his knuckles for the briefest of moments, when suddenly War itself knelt before Sleep, gazing up at him.

“Every man faces a small death every night, every man has to give into Sleep.” Ares brought Hypnos’s hand to his mouth. Deceivingly soft lips brushed over his fingers, and Hypnos felt himself grow further flustered. “In the end, Sleep wins over even War.”

Even in this gesture, the God exuded confidence, and Hypnos knew his cheeks must have deepened to the brightest purple. Nervously, he laughed, but Ares didn’t take any offense. He never did.

“Then-- I suppose I should ask you--” His mouth again ran faster than his mind, “What you want from me.” Golden eyes settled on the blazing pyre before him, each moment making it burn brighter, hotter, highlighting every muscle on the other God’s form. “Mortals only give sacrifices when they want something. Even I know that.”

“You never mince words.” Ares laughed, standing up, but refusing to let go of the slender hand in his own. Not that Hypnos wished to. His free hand trailed up to the Sleep God's face, brushing one of the pale curls out of his face before softly cupping his cheek, almost unnatural in him. “It’s one of the traits I’ve come to enjoy on our visits.”

Hypnos placed a hand on top of the one Ares held. “I-- Gosh…” He couldn’t help but grin wide. While their first encounter was sudden -- Ares never enjoyed unexpected factors, much less in his dreams -- what felt like eons passed with their occasional encounters, and Ares eagerly enjoyed Hypnos's companionship. Still, “You’re avoiding the question, Lord Ares.”

Thick fingers laced into slender ones, Ares’s thumb still rolling over Hypnos’s fingers. He left out a huff, what seemed to be a held-back chuckle, and cocked his head as his penetrating gaze peered right into Hypnos’s soul.

“I simply wish for your company. You’ve seen what I would do for it.” Ares finally let out a warm smile, but the licking flames made his strong brow cast a shadow over his eyes. “I would slay entire cities for you, my dear Hypnos.”

“Wouldn’t you do that even if I refused?” Hypnos asked, a grin tugging at his lips. Ares barked out a laugh, only quieting once Hypnos continued. “It’s what makes you-- well, _you_ , Lord Ares.”

This much was true. Hypnos, through his visits, had come to know the War God intimately, far more than perhaps any other has. After all, even the most powerful being is defenseless against sleep, and Hypnos could always reach into the deepest, darkest sides of any being. He knew how Ares was, how he felt, surrounded by his kin on Olympus, the rages he felt, the disappointment that flooded him, the regrets he held close to his heart. He _knew_ Ares, in all senses, as had their last encounter showed him.

He still remembered the God’s hot breath at his neck from time to time, alone with his thoughts.

He also knew, from quiet conversations whenever the dream lulled, that they had similar positions in their family. Resented for their very nature, considered difficult. Every branch of the Gods was dysfunctional, the thing of epics, but the fact that their _dominions,_ their _abilities_ , their personalities that came as a result, were the cause of this. While Ares was seen as a brainless, heartless brute, Hypnos knew even his mother considered his overall presence to be unpleasant, as hushed whispers from the shades let him know. Things they can’t understand but others think they should.

Neither of them cared.

He figured it was fitting that even in companionship, Ares was intense in his devotions. While jaded at what dreams presented, like sleep itself, Hypnos wished to soothe Ares, much like being around him soothed him in return. The thought that he thought of him so fondly brought a smile to his face. 

“If you want me, well…”

Hypnos closed what little space there was between them, looking up at the War God fondly, his perpetual smile soft and calm.

“I’ll happily be War’s bounty.”

**Author's Note:**

> You know, I started writing this as an exercise and ended up really shipping this. Go figure. 
> 
> Special thanks to my friend Mateo for beta reading, and Philya and Sailor for their support. :)
> 
> Feel free to stop by my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/eidorina) if you want!


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